My sexy bits are less perky

 

Behind the eyes is the woman my mind’s eye remembers. The body is the same as it always was, even back in the days when there were no lines around my eyes, and the road was waiting for me, I had curves even then. Net-net the books are almost even I rationalize. I talk to myself, not aloud of course. These types of conversations play out inside my head. I write novels, plan menus, have conversations with lost lovers with every word coming out perfectly. But when I am dueling with my darker self, my negative self image, it can be a nasty fight.

 

This morning it started with a sideway glance in the mirror. First, an appreciation for the slight lift in my butt from all those hills I’m walking up during my lunch hour. I stood a second too long. Without warning, the negative body image I beat down, stuff into a box, and lock away in the deepest darkest crevice of my mind at least weekly, broke free and insisted on a physical inventory.

 

I hate it when she rears her ugly chops, and goes for my jugular. It's usually a nasty cat fight, and this morning was no different. We tussled. She threw me down on the ground and pounded me for a solid minute before I rolled out reach of her killer kick and found the strength to stand up to her.   We exchanged colorful four letter words, hers all about my double-digit dress size, and the fine lines visible with a magnifying mirror. I stuck to East LA slang, for good measure, and because I felt like it, I threw her an uppercut and watched her go down-spat, and that was the end of that scuffle.

 

She was back in the locked box, and I was wobbling, but standing. I take comfort in the fact that these skirmishes are less frequent than in years past. It might be maturity and acceptance, or maybe it's as simple as liking the woman in the mirror that is looking back at me. Although my sexy bits wear more support these days, I am can still evoke that old black magic, even with the lights on. Still, it’s not like taking a pill, and POOF, all those years of self-doubt evaporates. It takes work to stay in the moment, to be present perfect, and not be so nutso over my curves.   I am a realist about very few things, but when it comes to my sense of self, I am. Regardless of how far I travel or how enlightened I am, the battle I have with that wicked self-image will rage until my last breath.